


Spider-Man Homecoming My version V2

by EggFriedReus



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adorable Peter Parker, Adorkable Peter Parker, Adrian Toomes gets fucked over, Angel Peter Parker, Avenger Peter Parker, Awesome Peter Parker, Awkward Peter Parker, BAMF Michelle Jones, Confident Peter Parker, Cute Peter Parker, Dork Peter Parker, Everyone Loves Peter Parker, F/M, Flash Thompson Bullies Peter Parker, Genius Peter Parker, Im adding these for the future as well, Innocent Peter Parker, Intern Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker, Meme Lord Peter Parker, Nerd Peter Parker, Nervous Peter Parker, Oblivious Peter Parker, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Has a Crush, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is a Mess, Photographer Peter Parker, Precious Peter Parker, Sad Peter Parker, Scared Peter Parker, Selfless Peter Parker, Smart Peter Parker, Smol Peter Parker, Stubborn Peter Parker, Student Peter Parker, Stuff that, Teen Peter Parker, Thaddeus Ross is a bit of a dick, Thaddeus Ross is a massive dickhead, Tired Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Worried Peter Parker, adding as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-06-29 05:35:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EggFriedReus/pseuds/EggFriedReus
Summary: A few tweaks can turn one of the best movies I’ve ever watched into utter shit. Now read it. :)





	1. The Exo-7 Falcon

New Jersey, 2011  
Exo-7 developing site

Beating sun rays radiate in waves off of the sweltering, sweating tarmac, General Thaddeus Ross grimaces to himself, obviously expressing his distaste to the overwhelming warmth sticking to his upper lip, covered in a well-maintained style of hair. He twitches his facial muscles, attempting to destabilise the congealed, condensed globule of perspiration.

A singular, uniform-clad arm comes up and swipes away at the continuous heat in front of his - Ross welcomes the small wave of cool air gracefully. It was a given that this New Jersey stretch wasn’t as hot as the Brazilian rainforests he had been venturing through to find Doctor Bruce Banner, but the northeastern heatwave was still as ferocious and fierce as the tropical, equatorial sun in the southern.

He stops at the gate, perhaps 20 paces away from his parked, convertible 1962 Shelby Cobra, bought for $13.2 million: barely a scratch off of the total amount he was paid for facing down The Incredible Hulk. When he reveals and points to his gleaming badge, safely pierced onto his right breast, the multitude of armoured guards let him stroll through the raising barrier onto the sight.

Respected, that’s how he feels when the soldiers salute and lieutenants nod to him alone specifically. Sometimes he replies, maybe a thump on the chest, or a nod in return. When the cooling, harsh breeze of the air-con ruffles up his appearance ever so slightly, he pauses.

If there’s one thing he’s learnt from Tony Stark: it’s that appearance is key; especially upon visiting another site, you want people to remember you as the smart, objective-based man - not the overpaid man-child he had referred to earlier.

A few final corrections to his attire send him on his way past the reception desk in his agonisingly slow pace. Once more he flashes his badge, this time to the woman on duty behind the mahogany stretch. She shuffled and opens her mouth to speak, but Ross is already halfway down the first corridor, making a b-line for the office of the Head Of Site.

Putting one foot in front of the other, keeping to his crawl makes Ross think of the one objective he has today. If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t even need to be here technically. The general could’ve just sent a message through the mail, or perhaps forward a quick email from the president to each of the members of the clan he’s about to visit... But this morning he decided to do it himself, take matters into his own hands and do the act personally. ‘It might even build a bit more credit with his uppers.’ He reasoned last night when he first thought of the idea to come in himself. ‘If they notice the dedication and responsibility: a raise and promotion will surely be on its way.’

Two rights at the end of the corridor position him in front of the office that had been his up until last month. The latest promotion had done a lot, Thank you, Doctor Banner - now that Ross thought about it, he didn’t even get to thank the owner of the multitude of PhDs.

Four swift and powerful knocks announce his arrival and entrance onto the stage and spotlight. “Ah, General!” The shorter, bald man before him shoots to his feet when his secretary nervously opens the door, evidently scared - or perhaps surprised by the latest arrival. His display is followed by the slightest, but a noticeable bow and a hand offering. Thaddeus isn’t 100% sure on its meaning: perhaps a possible handshake, or an offer to sit.

However, given the fact that the two other chairs in the room are situated right in the corner, Ross extends his own - and clutches onto the Head’s hand as if it’s the last thing keeping him alive. Too much force than necessary, but the head understands why. A power move: to show that General Ross is higher up and more respected than this simple Head Of Site. It implies you to be a natural leader and further installs the hierarchy into oneself’s mind. It displays an aura about you, and says: ‘I don’t intend to be in your office for long.’

Ross regrets that handshake as soon as it begins. The Head’s hand is clammy, and that indescribably rough, yet moist feel. Ross believes it to be because of his presence. The Head probably doesn’t get many higher-ups in these parts. Especially with the majority of actions happening over in Malibu with the richest man in history. Secondly, Ross only occasionally shakes hands, definitely not to lower downs, but because of this time of the fact that he’s outnumbered in the room. 2 against 1 is manageable but unadvised. The General isn’t stupid, he knows he’s got his enemies, and quite his fair share - but he’s not going to call their bluff as Stark would.

“I was wondering whether I might see you today. What will it be?” The man may be speaking, but Ross isn’t listening, only noticing the pyramid structure he forms with his hands.

“I want to know whether these individuals are on site.” The man: Russel, Ross identifies him through his shining, polished name tag, looks rather taken aback. Thaddeus reckons that he would’ve been to, had he been working for a week here - instead of 42 years. You see, as a military official and politician, it is key to know what language is used when, and how you use it effectively. Strong, demanding words speak down on another- forcing your will over theirs.

Russell’s lips quiver on the edge of a smirk before he offers forth his hand. ‘So he does understand.’ Thinks Ross. Being in the trade for 4 decades, he recognises things. Russell is trying to lead the meeting now, he knows that he’s on the back foot. Ross is pressing on a tight situation here.

Forward comes the sheet into the Head’s outstretched hand, and Ross examines Russell Birch’s facial movements; identifying expressions with the slightest of muscle spasms or movements. What gives most men around are the eyes - and with Russell’s darting around down and across the page Ross can tell that his day is going to be relatively easy. His thoughts are only confirmed when Birch announces what Ross has known for the last few minutes, all the individuals are present and are situated in ‘Hangar 7’.

He doesn’t thank him, or announce his intentions (He would try to stop him, and anyway, it doesn’t involve Birch.’ Ross doesn’t say anything before he leaves the office - and then after that, the building.

Once more the midday sun tries to clutch into his existence, defiling his cool persona rather effectively. More than ‘The Avengers’ could anyway. Two layers of sweat form across his crinkled brow before he makes it into ‘The Hangar Of Hangars.’

Ross prefers to stay inside, away from the windows and the large glass walls that surround the rooms inside the base. The General takes a left, and then another, eventually followed by a third. With a fork in the path, Ross takes his first, swerving right bend onto corridor ‘B’ with Hangars ‘5-10’ along the right-hand wall. His eyes dart between numbers. ‘5’... ‘6’... ‘Bingo..’

Puffing out his chest, Ross throws open the door to mixed reactions. Some jump, some whisper, and some - the ones Ross hates: they smile, like long lost friends meeting once more. Thaddeus unwrinkled his brow, no longer having the bright sun glaring and reflecting off the white tiled floor into his eyes as it had outside the concrete square that was ‘Hangar 7’. A haughty cough draws all stares, some glares. All attention on him he begins. “From here on out, all personnel, apart from cleaners, are henceforth released fro-..” He has continued his sentence to the end but no-one heard him. Not even Herman, the closest one to him. The effect had been instantaneous on the room. Then again, that probably was the case when you fire a squad of highly trained, qualified, and maintained, middle-aged ex-soldiers and mechanical engineers.

The General took his newly acquired to observe ‘Hangar 7’. It was vastly different from the rest of the nearby facilities and even looked different from how he had viewed it last in 2010. Marble, white walls covered the usual concrete boundaries - majorly different to the usual unfinished, chipped, grey concrete. Smooth granite floors illustrated a carefully cut and precise nature to the place. Most notable however were the workers: all proper scientists and engineers. They were all vastly superior to the duds that worked over in Hangar 2 and 3; the only two other currently operating positions in the North-West area.

Ross drew the place in his mind back toward where he came, round the reception desk and under the barrier into his Shelby Cobra.


	2. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian Toomes assembles his group and they will have their revenge.

New York, 2011  
Adrian Toomes’ house.

Down the first flight of stairs - skipping over the dodgy third step - around the creaky floorboard, past the singular support pillar. Look forward. What you’ll see is quite the sight to behold. 5 men. 5 different backgrounds. 1 motive. 1 thing to bring them together. 1 reason, purpose, the reason for why they were here. Revenge.

Adrian Toomes - the main man. He runs the show. It’s his house they’re all currently under, with his ten year old daughter somewhere above their heads. But he trusts them. Because they’re friends right? He thinks they are - but only because there’s bigger fish to fry then each other.

Jackson Brice is to his left - the right hand man. Brice is here for a multitude of reasons: 1, he’s like a brother to Adrian. Back to back through thick and thin. And 2 he lost a bet in middle school.... Brice is currently fiddling, well its more engineering - but he can’t pronounce that word.

Mac Gargan. The insomnia driven psychopath. Mac is a madman through and through. But at the moment he’s silent, contempt. Because he’s going to get his revenge.

If the rest are the brains, Herman Shultz is the brawn. He’s not as smart as the others, but with a punch or two, you won’t be as smart as you were when you started. Shultz is currently training; it’s all he’s been doing, and it’s all he’s going to do until the raid begins. Only then will he restart his life.

Finally there’s Phineas Mason. He’s the oddball. The one who doesn’t feel he should be here. But personally chosen by Toomes, he’ll do the work behind the scenes. Mason is by far the best with his hands, although Brice would argue back in high school. (Wink, Wink.)

Together, all five men are just getting by. Only because they’re getting revenge. The plans are all out, set in stone. 5 men, there’s five entrances. Step 1 is to impersonate the workers. Easy enough, each of them used to work there. Next is to get into position. They’ve all been given one specifically, each with a different purpose. Brice is on the front gate, ready to wave through Mac...

Gargan is tasked with the getaway. One lorry with plenty of room for each of them and anything they might steal in the mean time. And anyway, he’s not afraid to use it as a battering ram.

Part 3 is all down to Mason. He’ll storm the control room, neutralise any outgoing signals and open the floodgates for Adrian and Herman to steal the Exo-7 suit.

The Exo-7 is their life’s work. The earliest current form of the Falcon suit. They were working on miniaturising when they were fired. Looks like all the work will go into this suit instead.

So later that week, when the site is in a transition period. Minimum workers, the plan goes forth. And it all works. Down to a T. Until that is: until Mac Gargan blows most of the place to hell with ‘pre-placed’ explosives.

But the lorry is away and out of the state before anyone else has a chance to even call 911. Celebrations are held in baited breath before they get back to Adrian’s.


	3. One Car Journey Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That little car journey between Peter and Tony. My Irondad-Spiderson heart cant take it.

New York, Queens  
2017

Everything is black. Nothing.

Then suddenly, a spark, a flicker. The video strikes into action as if you’ve just started one of those old movie theatre displayers. Peter’s eyes fixate on his small phone screen, eyes burning with the dark surroundings of the car around him clashing against the bright beams from the device in his hands.

Getting through the initial pain, his retinas work even harder to make out the video on screen. ‘A Film By Peter Parker’ stains the screen. The kid smiles slightly at his own antics. Flicking his finger twice against his headphones cause the volume to slowly increase past 1 or 2 squares onto 8 or 9 - the perfect amount for his sensitive senses to pick up all the needed detail.

The inside of the very car he’s sitting in now displays it’s self across the 3-year-old display. After which, his own, slightly muffled voice is heard through the two actually working headphones. Looking back, he had no idea why the owner threw them into the trash outside his apartment. “New York, Queens. It’s a rough world - but hey, it’s home.”

Peter eases out the smallest laugh. But hells eyes can’t help but flicker over to Mr Stark - his idol. Who just so happens to be sitting in the same car as him. Peter’s eyes dart back to his phone - keen not to miss any lately added detail - especially as Mr Stark’s body shifts toward him ever so slightly.

Tony opens his mouth to make a comment to the kid. It would probably be about the cheesy video he’s been informed is being made about the trip. But Tony’s fine with it. He knows some people love superheroes, and the fact is not everyone is as rich as him - well technically no one is... So for Peter’s first time on a plane to be to fight Captain America in Germany.... Thinking back to the video, Tony noticed the kid is actually watching what looks like it now. He shuffles slightly closer and the kid tilts the phone screen ever so slightly, but it’s noticeable.

Barely suppressing a snort, the billionaire informs Friday of his intentions through his glasses. Instantly pops up what he’s been trying to view. The kids video, it projects across the first layered glass panes of the sunglasses. A brief message kicks it off - something about Germany, himself, Spider-Man, Captain America...

He’s wrenched out of his muse with the continuous tapping to his left. Tony can only assume that the kid is adding on to the video at that very moment. A question to Friday springs to his mind, but without even asking the AI shows Peter’s phone screen.

Covering the first window is some expensive editing software, evidently hacked and broken, it’s obvious once you take in the green code sprawling its self across the right hand side much quicker than Stark can make it out - let alone read it. Somehow the kid can read it, eyes darting everywhere whilst simultaneously editing some of the core video. It was unlocking aspects of the app not readily available in the free version, but the crazy part was the timing. Whenever Peter would finish, the recently used bit would lock it’s self once more.

Tony reasoned that either he was incredibly accurate and precise with his timings and movements, or the kid used a hell of a lot of variables. He thought the second as a small, third blob pops up in the middle of the screen. Specifically listed are what seems to be an endless list of variables flowing down and down. Tony paused the broadcast. “Simplify.”  
He states, indicating toward the video with his eyes.

His AI speaks back to him - the usual flat tone. “That’s not possible. It appears these are written in an alternate coding language.” His brow furrows upon the words, thing back to the Hammer Industries days. ‘That hasn’t happened in a long time.’ Friday continues. “If I were to attempt, it may take several tries.

‘And we did Hammer in one.’ Thinks Tony - ‘we’ referring to him and Jarvis back in 2010.

“So just the language is gunna take what? 2 hours? Then the decipher.. 20 minutes?”

“Overall period to be just under 3 hours. In the meantime would you like to continue watching?” One series of nods put the video back on the glasses. The code was gone, but the kid was throwing video after video into the one supercut. “In total, the video should last about 3 minutes.” Assumes Friday, analysing possible videos to be added. 

“I got that, yeah.” Was Tony reply as he just watched the kids phone screen. Evidently the highlights of the kids trip. Currently was the rewatch period, checking over every aspect as it was brought together. Happy was speaking, well no-he wasn’t, but he was on screen.. Reaching up and pressing the divider button. The billionaire shook his head slightly. ‘Happy...’ His left arm extended straight up and pressed an identical button on the roof - causing the barrier to rise.

When Tony looked back, Peter had finally looked up from the phone with the video still playing, and still in Tony’s view. An innocent, wide eyed stare fluctuated between the goatee-clad face and the button Tony had just pressed. A gaze of wonder made Tony smirk all the way to his eyes. He winked, turned, and acted as if he was no longer interested.

The black glass gave a good background to watch the video on and through the reflection he watched Peter’s brain work. The kid seemed to be toying with an idea outside of his current project. The teen was casting gazes between the divider, Tony, and Happy. A thought was brewing in his mind but he seemed to be casting it off as he thought about it.

“Underoos!” Called out past-Tony. ‘God is that what I sound like on his camera?’ Wondered Tony, but he snapped out of it just in time to see Peter freak out and swing in on screen.

“Hey everyone.” Sounded through the glasses when the Spider-Kid landed. Effectively stealing Cap’s shield in the process of the multi flip. If Tony was being honest with himself: as he actually tried to be sometimes, it still hurt to see Steve in the video - and even to think his name. Knowing now that their friendship and the teams relationships would never be the same afterward... He never would’ve signed the accords.

“Hey everyone?” Questioned Tony as he mulled his thoughts. The teen jumped up as Tony turned toward him. Peter shuffled a bit and disheveled his teenage appearance beyond repair (If it wasn’t already.) God, Tony was already thinking fashion tips for the kid. Peter ‘hmm’ed in response. “Superhearing and you still can’t hear me..” Peter’s face dropped as he took of the headphones.

“Nu, nu, nu, nu, no... Mr Stark. It’s these headphones- I’d always listen to you. No, that’s not what I meant..” The billionaire sent him a look - like a ‘really?’ look.

“So you wouldn’t always listen to me?” Peter panicked and began waving his hands around wildly slightly.

“Nununununununo.. I would always listen to you - but what I meant is that there’s nothing wrong with the headphones. If anything it’s your fault - ‘cuz they’re so well designed, and engineering, and manufactured! Was it a butt-load of sound absorbers? Or just even more opposite sound waves? Or was it both? I mean, the possibilities are practically endless!” Tony continued to watch with a smile plastered right across his face. The teen was unfolding slightly and unrolling to be his natural self - not just a teenage fanboy. It was almost crazy how his brain could keep up with his mouth. Then again - given the IQ numbers Friday was currently estimating, Tony was pretty sure the kid would be able to do anything.

Peter’s rambling placed them outside his apartment within what felt like seconds - the kid could talk endlessly, about anything! And after all of that; what bothered Tony wasn’t the kids knack for not breathing, or that skill you lose as you become a man of being able to speak and inhale at the same time, but the kids knowledge intake. And the possibility that the magic spider which bit him gave the kid mind reading powers... Because whatever super-genius thing Tony would come up with on the spot, it was added into the kids next ramble.

Eventually he quietened, and stopped, seeming to realise that maybe Tony didn’t want to listen to his teenage talks. 

Happy looked back through the now open divider to see the kid looking forward sheepishly, now openly apologising profusely. “What did he do? Was it that vlog he’s been doing? I’ll wipe the chip..”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey...” Tony was quick to the kids defence. Unnervingly quick for someone who had known Tones for 20-30 years. “No-one will be wiping any chips today.” It was the matter-of-fact tone that the billionaire said it in that put an end to that conversation nearly as quickly as it begun. “Anyway.” That Stark mischief glinted for a second in his brown eyes before he started speaking and Happy made sure not to bring up the fact that they had stopped. Whenever that glint appeared, good things usually followed. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that video, Underoos..” Mid way through his sentence he was interrupted. Peter was apologising more than earlier again now.

“I’ll delete it Mr Stark - I just thought it would be cool, I’ll dele—...”

“Hey! Drop it alright.. I was just gunna say send it to me. I’ve seen the dedication you’ve put into it. I’m not gunna take that away from you. The work, continuous ploughing through. The skill level: damn kid! Where d’you get skills like that?” That kid was more or less babbling and bumbling along now - completely in shock with what he was hearing. “Better than I was at 14.” Peter looked ready to explode with the last fact, a happy explosion, if that happened. Seemingly visible beams of happiness and relief radiated and fired out of the kid into the air. “Y’know what- scratch that- I’ll get Friday to send it over. You don’t worry kid.”

“Friday?” Questioned Peter, looking confused and perhaps slightly worried. “That’s what that was? Your AI?” Tony furrowed his brow once more that day. He let Peter continue. “I kicked her out a few minutes ago.. I thought I could detect something.”

“Wait what?” Now it was Tony’s turn to be confused and honestly, slightly surprised. No one had kicked Friday out of somewhere before. “You kicked out Friday?” Peter nodded vigorously and smiled before finally putting forward his phone into Tony’s hand.

“Old phone.” The kid supplied, indicating down to the small, cracked brick in the philanthropists hand. “I passed it off as gpu stress. Tried to get rid of it.” Peter takes his phone back and squeezes it to about 30% of his capability. “Damn near indestructible as well. Helps if I drop it on a swing..” Peter motioned his hands out in his web slinging handshape.

Tony stared back at him, thinking: ‘If the kid can do all of this with one of those Sony things...’ The man couldn’t understand the kids ability levels for his age. Well neither could anyone else during his teenage years.

Tony was just about to say about a cover up story for Peter’s aunt when Happy announces their arrival. His mind is wiped blank for a moment until he reaches forward into a half-hug. Never would he admit it though. Tony tries to pass it off as opening the door afterward when the kid has left - but Happy sees right through him and his objections.

Looking back, Happy feels his heart jump and then suddenly settle uneasily. Through the rear glass he can see Tony lean forward (jump) and pry open the door slowly (settle). ‘Nearly showed emotion there Tones.’ Think Happy - finally opening up the rear to reveal the silver suitcase that houses the Spider-Man suit.

The gleaming box is surprisingly light and that draws Happy’s attention away from Tony catching Peter’s wrist as the kid steps out the car. He does hear the tail end of the conversation though. “Im’a send you a SI phone, in fact here..” Happy can’t see, but he’s assuming Parker’s protests are linked with the fact that he’s now holding tightly onto what looks like Tony’s (now old) phone. “Knock yourself out Kid!” He shouts as Peter closes the door behind him.

The bodyguard more-or-less forced the large container into the child’s arms before speeding off within the same minute, leaving a very confused and awing teenager in their wake.


	4. School time obsessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s pining, but he’s unsure over who...
> 
> In the meantime his secret identity constantly seems on the balance of being revealed...

It had been edging toward 2 months since his ‘Stark Retreat’ over in Germany. And now Peter couldn’t wait for the next time he was needed. If there was a next one, that was. He hoped there would be: but equally hoped the opposite. Maybe Mr Stark would recognise his ability and decide to train him - have him come down to the compound upstate and fiddle around, break a few eggs, hone his skills... 

However, if Peter did get the opportunity - it would mean the world was in danger. Perhaps it was for the best, for now, that Peter could lye in the shadows a bit longer. It was awfully difficult to balance a secret identity and social life, even more so if he had to travel hundreds of miles away, whilst simultaneously spending the entirety of his days in Queens and Midtown.

Peter dreams revolved around the Iron Man suit a lot. Whether he was building one, editing one, fixing one, fighting with one, god forbid even wearing one of them... He reckoned he would feint if given the opportunity.

Tonight’s building of the suit was interrupted too early when his alarm blasted his ears. It shredded his weak opening resolve of the morning and its disturbances. Peter’s hand had already been waiting above the button to press when it jolted him awake. Over the past few months he could feel his ‘Spider-Sense’ develop. It had come leaps and bounds since the original bite a mere year ago: but it felt primeval almost, something ready to break open and unleash its self into its full potential. To the point where he could predict what would happen..

The blaring was silenced instantly by the swift, precise motion of his hand slamming down on the general area of the electrical device. It cracked along the edge with the force and nearly crumpled in on itself when Peter pushed his weight through it to heave himself out of the cozy, warm confines of the bed. 

His left side burned with pain from the stabbing he had received two nights before. Luckily the wound was small and it seemed to only tear when he did any physical activity above walking. 

Only three pieces of Lego were stepped on as he managed to throw on a button shirt and trousers. It didn’t even hurt anymore, the Lego that was, his side was still killing him. Peter stares down the Lego pieces as he steps on them. Effectively urging them to try and hurt him like they used to before Ned started binge watching TV shows and making Lego builds as they perfected their handshake.

He was out of his room before he could realise that his shirt was completely unbuttoned and his socks still in his hand. A half-walk, half-hop was needed when he struggled to put on his socks as he moved. The tear along his thigh opened out slightly and he nearly fell over from the sudden pain. A loud hiss ruptured through the feeble defence that was his clenched teeth. Aunt May hurried over, his breakfast in his hands. 

“Are you alright, Peter?” She asked, helping him back up solidly onto his feet. 

“Yeah, yeah... Just-cramp.. Or something...” Peter replied, grabbing his breakfast from his Aunt, who was offering it his way. “Thanks May, you’re a life-saver..” 

“Yeah, Peter, you say that so much, I get it.” A wide smile was plastered across her face before she continued speaking, although the following words did make the smile falter. “I’ve got another long shift at the hospital again y’know. I’m sorry Pete- but we need the extra money..” The teen managed out an understanding smile and went toward the door.

“Hey Pete!” He spun on the spot back toward his Aunt, shoving the last bit of food into his already crammed mouth. “Your shirt...” The vague gesture led Peter to look down and notice it had been open the entire time. “I still don’t get how you got those...” His cheeks flushed. He eventually buttoned up the shirt and tried to leap out the door, only to be halted again. “Baby, you might wanna put on some shoes...” Peter didn’t even look down this time, but he grabbed his shoes and stepped into them, not doing the laces as he was getting toward late for school. 

One hand on the handle, he opened it, shouted back his leaving to Aunt May and took one hard look at the largest photo in the room. Uncle Ben, with his signature red and black jacket, shirt combo... Peter sniffled, rubbed his eye and switched his gaze onto the very corner of the photo. ‘Taken by Peter Parker.’ He smiled slightly and shut the door. 

The journey to school was normal, the hubbub of New York seeming to whisk him off with it toward his destination. Along the subway, down the stairs, past the bodega, and here! He smiled lightly and proceeded forward along the short drop off road to the front door. About halfway, his neck seemed to electrocute it’s self. All the hairs stood up and forced him to jump up. Zooming beneath his feet went Flash Thompson’s Audi TTRS. “Sup Penis Parker!” He shouted back, completely oblivious to all the stares Peter was receiving. Evidently jumping over speeding cars that you didn’t know were there was classed as weird.

The stares followed the nerd all the way until the front doors closed and those nearby dissipated toward their home rooms. Peter still couldn’t find Ned in the emptying corridors. God he was getting worse at this. He threw his bag into his locker, got out what he needed and was about to close it, when, Ned.. That was Ned. “Join me.. And together, we can build my brand new Lego Death Star!” Peter smirked and turned. “No way! That’s like $400!” 

“Well you’re not the only one with rich parents..” Peter flinched and stared at Ned, a cold hard death stare. The larger boy was still oblivious and continued in with his rambling. “I mean, you’re Tony Stark’s personal intern! He’s effectively your Dad right?” 

“No Ned, no.” He pushed open the home room door as the bell went. 

“Parker, on time. Mr. Leeds, you’re late..” Snarked their teacher. “Detention with me at lunch.” The duo sat down as Flash threw himself into the class room. “Flash, sit down, none of those dramatic antics here.” 

Ned’s hand shot up in a determined manner. “How come I get a detention but Flash only gets a warning?” His eyebrows crossed aggressively, still determined to get an answer. 

“Mr. Leeds, detention after school instead. Speaking out of turn. Ned grumbled and moaned but shut up for the rest of the period, and then the lesson after. 

Multiple times throughout the day, Peter watched YouTube from his position in class. His Spider-Man videos were actually bringing in a steady stream of money. But he couldn’t really put it to use. May would question where it was all coming from, and Peter couldn’t tell her yet. And maybe he would never tell her.. 

Now it was chemistry. Back row of seating. The perfect place to make more web fluid. Considering his school was a science based school, it was a wonder how little of them did chemistry. The teacher was rambling on about Neil Bohr when Peter caught her eye. Michelle was looking at him through the visor she was wearing and Peter nearly double took. ‘Since when was Michelle so attractive.’ Wondered Peter. He flushed under her gaze and shuffled awkwardly, covering the eye-line into his draw. Web fluid currently brewing inside of it. 

Peter looked up toward the book lover and she in turn, hardened the gaze but looked away after only a short period. ‘Phew’ he thought, swiping away the bead of sweat that had generated under the pressure she outputted. Peter swung open the draw with the bottom of his slightly torn converse. ‘Nah, so that formula won’t work.’ 

Peter was really trying to find a new way to adapt his web fluid so that it lasted longer. Quite a few occasions had ended up with the police taking too long and the criminal getting away.. 

Throughout the rest of the lesson, Peter tried to start conversation with Michelle. If she was his lab partner, they were meant to have conversations right? She would only look, eye roll, or just read. That’s the bit that annoyed Peter. The constant reading. Peter had a lot of patience. And you do you, if you like reading: knock yourself out! And he liked reading as well. He had even admitted it to Mr. Stark when they first met. But the amount Michelle read was unnatural. Sure, it blasted her mental skills and English related topics through the roof, but Peter bet there was an entirely different person beneath the off-putting exterior. And Peter, not Spider-Man, would persevere to break it down and find the true Michelle. Call it his saving people thing if you want. Even if you’d have to say saving people from themselves.

When the lesson was wrapping up however, Flash decided it would be a great idea to try and pour a variety of chemicals into Peter’s desk. For once the Parker luck decided to be good to him. Flash was just about to pour it into the wrong draw, when Peter realise that was Michelle’s draw. She hadn’t taken her notebook out of the draw yet. That had all her years of drawing in it. Peter couldn’t have that be destroyed because Flash got the wrong draw. 

Peter looked at Michelle, she was looking up from her bag. She couldn’t find her notebook and she couldn’t lose that. Peter could see the panic develop in her pupils. They locked eyes and Pete gulped. “Flash!” He called out, still looking at Michelle. The bully looked up toward him, that gave Peter the time he needed. He dived at the boy, ducked under the container he was carrying and grabbed Michelle’s draw in its entirety. “Wrong draw!” He said over his shoulder. The remaining members of the class watched as he passed Michelle’s draw back to her. “Here.” He said, offering forward the notebook. “I know you’ve got all your drawings in that. And I saw flash going toward it, and I couldn’t see all your work go to waste..” His rambling slowed and most of the class had already left due to the bell going mere moments before. 

With two other students still in the class, Michelle offered forward her hand. Peter shook it questionably. Michelle nodded, a solid nod. A respectful gesture if anything else. They both just stood there for a moment, Peter looking at Michelle, and her doing anything but the same. Just the pair of them were left in the classroom then, and instantly Michelle leapt forward into a half hug. “Thank you!” She breathed out. Clutching the notebook as hard as Peter had been hit with Captain America’s shield. Peter offered a half hug back and decided not to say anything. It would ruin the moment - especially with his ramblings. 

Her brain seemed to realise what she was doing after about five seconds and she sprung back out of the contact. She picked up she bag and swept out of the classroom in a matter of moments. “So that’s the real Michelle..” he whispered, picking up his own bag and leaving to lunch.

Only at lunch and decathlon did Peter see Ned today. They ate and shared looks with each other over the senior and junior girls at the other end of the hall. Liz and Felicia. They shared a father, but different mothers. They looked similar, but Peter had a weird obsession over Felicia whereas. Ned was the opposite. Peter knew it was weird - and given a month or two when he was over it, he would look back and find himself incredibly creeped out by himself.. But something about Felicia as she put up the ‘Homecoming’ banner really excited him inside. 

He was broken out of his muse by Michelle a few tables down, she commented on the weirdness and Peter was too busy looking at Michelle now to answer. At least Ned was there to answer. If he was here on his own he’d be worried for himself. If he looked at Michelle like Ned said he did at Felicia, he’d be challenging Hitler for the least amount of testicles if Michelle's eyes could give injuries. And that’s was not something he wanted to be challenging

‘Last into the room again.’ He reminded himself, slumping down into the separate table for the little meeting he had with Mr Harrington. God he wished he didn’t have to have it. But there was always the slight chance that something could go down. Then again, why would Iron Man come to him for help. He was Tony Stark! He didn’t even need the help. 

However he argued with himself as he waited. Why did Mr. Stark come to him then. Those three moths ago, yes, the billionaire had specifically said he was here so that Peter didn’t get himself killed in the onesie - but there had to be another reason. Mr Stark could’ve gone to Hell’s Kitchen instead. Although he doubted that Iron Man wanted a blind man on his team. 

Mr Harrington pulled up the chair and practise was already underway. It was already about halfway through before the teacher arrived. He rambled through the beginning of the conversation and only when his team looked over did he begin to gather himself together. Maybe the supportive looks from Ned did it. Or the thirst to prove himself to one of Felicia, Liz or Michelle in the room, show them he was at least competent of putting together an argument. Too bad all three of them already thought he was a lying shit. He could identify it in their eyes. 

Since becoming Spiderman he had been able to identify feelings in people eyes way easier than he could before. Before the bite he called it his photography vision. Being able to identify the correct time to take a photo depending on the emotions the other people around him felt. When he took the photo of May and Ben that he had looked at everyday as he left the apartment, he could see the happiness and joy in both pairs of eyes. Like nothing could ever go wrong. 

“But Peter, it’s nationals..” Remarked Mr Harrington. Peter huffed in annoyance but explained his argument again. Unfortunately Flash heard him, and drew the attention of the rest of the team with it. 

“But if Mr Stark needs me, then I’ve gotta be here...” 

“Please!” Shouted Flash from where he was at the back of the room. “You’ve never even been in the same room as Tony Stark.” 

“Wait what’s going on?” Asked Cindy from beside Abe, Liz stopped asking the questions and turned toward Mr Harrington for answers. 

“Peter’s not going to nationals.” Answered Sally, and well, she was only half right. He could go to nationals but what if Iron Man needed him, Tony Stark! You don’t let Tony Stark go to voicemail because your doing a stupid Academic Decathlon with your school. That’s not what Avengers do!

“Peter? Really? Right before nationals?” Asked Liz. She had evidently gathered what was going on..

“Not cool man.” Announced Felicia from the side of the room. She was still updating that Homecoming banner..

“I’ll see alright!” Peter conceded. The constant barrage of talking at him did nothing good for his developing super senses. “I’ll ask him..”

“Like you’ve got ‘They Tony Stark’ in your contacts Penis.” Snarked Flash, snarling at him slightly. 

“Well it’s better than your hot date with Natasha Romanoff, Flash!” Replied Michelle from her corner. Peter looked up toward her and sent a thankful smile. Unlucky for him, she didn’t send one back, she rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. Saying: ‘If you didn’t spew bullshit then I wouldn’t have to back you up.’ 

Peter dropped his head down in disappointment. Michelle cocked her head in surprise and wonder. ‘So Peter cares about what I think does he?’ Asked Michelle to herself. ‘So he’s not just addicted to Felicia...’

Mercifully for him the bell went shortly after. And Michelle reckoned his day was over, or he was skiving considering the speed he bolted the classroom with. If he put that speed into the schools annual sports day, then maybe he might be of some good. She drew herself to the window in her English classroom quick enough to see him vault the fence in one jump. “Well fuck...” she muttered, staring out at the boy who was sprinting away a from school as fast as Flash drove around the car park.


End file.
